


Three's A Crowd

by thescienceofsherlolly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cockblocking, Established Relationship, F/M, Flirting, John is just there to piss people off, Molly is Smitten, Secret Relationship, Sexual Tension, Sherlock is a Good Boyfriend, Sneaking Around, just like the show hur hur hur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-08 18:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13464195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescienceofsherlolly/pseuds/thescienceofsherlolly
Summary: Frustrated with the lack of alone time they have together, Sherlock and Molly plan a trip together. Unfortunately, John Watson invites himself along...





	1. The Case

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on one of my chats over on tumblr which received wonderful comments so thank you for that. I hope you enjoy this story. not sure how long it'll last but I guess that all depends on you guys :) thank you for reading ♥

“I have a case.”

John sighs to himself, continuing his weekly blog update as if nothing had happened. His flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, had been silently contemplating for the last hour or so, frustrated at the lack of work. John had almost forgotten he was there. Fine. He appreciated the peace and quiet. Well, he did.

“Okay,” the army doctor replied, unsure of what else to say. Perhaps Sherlock was finally going mad – there hadn’t been a text or email for weeks, not even a missing cat to keep him occupied. And now there was this? Well, if it kept the genius away from a revolver and Mrs. Hudson’s beloved wallpaper, John was surely positive. He continued, “when?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll be gone for a week.”

John nodded routinely. “Where to?”

“There’s been several murders up in the Lake District. I’ve been asked to investigate.”

John frowned, curiosity getting the better of him. He twisted around in his chair to better glimpse his friend. “When did this come in?”

“Just now,” Sherlock leapt to his feet gleefully, the joy of a case bringing that familiar spring in his step and glint in his eye. It was quite frightening to be honest. The detective snatched up his phone, pointing it at the bemused army doctor, “a nine, my friend. I’m not about to pass this up.”

Without another word, the detective skipped to his room, presumably to pack. This wasn’t altogether surprising or new behaviour to John. He’d been oddly chipper and well-mannered lately – John would even go so far as to say pleasant. Complaints of boredom had diminished, milk was purchased rather frequently, he’d even caught the detective trying to work the hoover. He may have given up ten minutes later in favour of a slice of cake but it was a start. John had given up trying to figure out what the cause of the sudden good moods was. The important thing was Sherlock was happy which was good enough for John. He closed the lid of his laptop, stretching his arms and stifling a yawn; tired as he was, there was no time to rest. He had work to do.

* * *

Before seven o’clock the following morning, Sherlock was up, freshly showered and dressed. He’d snuck a piece of toast and quick cup of coffee, throwing the last few items into his holdall. He paced anxiously across the living room floor, peering out of the window every time he passed. Nervous excitement pounded through his veins, a feeling he was familiar with just before setting out. What felt like hours later, he spotted the black cab pull up outside 221B, a passenger stumbling out a moment later. Smiling to himself, Sherlock seized his bag and wound the blue scarf around his neck. He tiptoed downstairs and out into the street, carefully closing the door behind him.

Molly Hooper stood in front of the cab with her own suitcase, beaming at him beneath her matching scarf and hat. Paired with the floral-patterned coat she wore, a gift from himself, she’d never looked so adorable. Molly greeted him with a brief yet intimate hug, neither of them willing to risk anything more just yet.

“Hi, everything sorted?” She said, keeping her voice low – their relationship was still a well-kept secret and they intended to keep it that way. Oh, how she’d missed him. They hadn’t seen each other for three days and hadn’t been alone together for even longer. When Sherlock suggested taking a trip at the chance to snatch some quality time together, Molly couldn’t say no. She looked up at him, playing with his scarf, “did he believe the case thing?”

“Of course,” Sherlock smirked, sounding just a little too pleased with himself, “you?”

“Toby’s at my Mum’s and my neighbour’s going to check on the flat for me.”

The detective raised an eyebrow, “so, that’s it, Doctor Hooper. Just the two of us for a whole week.”

Molly giggled, stepping just that little bit closer, “no sneaking around, no lying. We can hold hands, we can snog without fear it’ll be front page in the paper the next day,” she shook her head, unable to stop smiling, “I can’t wait. I can’t remember the last time we spent alone together,” Molly sighed happily, linking her fingers with his and looking into his beautiful eyes, “peace and quiet.”

Sherlock took her case, leaning in close enough to whisper, “oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

He just caught Molly’s faint blush before he disappeared to store their luggage in the boot of the taxi. The moment was broken by the front door of 221B opening, followed by John Watson stepping out into the street, his teeth chattering in the early morning chill. He heaved a heavy-looking bag onto his shoulder, approaching the cab; he blinked at the sight of the dumbfounded pathologist in front of him.

“Oh, hey, Molly. You’re coming, too?”

“Erm…” Molly floundered, wringing her hands frantically as she desperately attempted to think of some excuse. Anything! Thankfully, her boyfriend peered around the cab looking just as horrified as she did.

“What are you doing?”

“What the hell does it look like?” John snapped, pushing past his best friend to stow his luggage next to theirs. Sherlock frowned, hauling John’s bag out of the boot and throwing it on the floor.

“You’re not coming with us! I have a doctor, thank you.”

“What’s your problem?” John retaliated, lifting his bag from the floor. He dusted it hastily, shoving it roughly into the boot. He slammed it closed pointedly, “I’m coming, like it or not. You never know, we might have a good time.”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” the detective muttered under his breath. He was on the brink of smoking his first cigarette in six months.

“Um, actually, John, this is quite a boring case…” Molly started, sensing Sherlock’s imminent murder spree. It was a sign of his desperation to get rid of John that he darted over to Molly’s side, almost pleading with the former army doctor.

“Very boring. I’ll likely not need to leave the room,” he smiled coldly, discreetly linking hands with Molly behind her back. John was having none of it; he just chuckled and waved a hand, irritating the both of them.

“Oh, no. Not after the fuss you made the last time I didn’t come. I’m not going through that again,” he was too busy checking his watch to catch the look of disappointment shared between his friends, “anyway, I could use boring right now. Everything’s always manic…I’m just keen to settle down, enjoy the scenery.”

“Great…” Sherlock and Molly sighed in unison, reluctantly letting go of each other so they could climb into the cab either side of their intrusive friend.

John attached his seatbelt, smiling happily as he looked between them, “I’m starving. D’you mind if we stop for breakfast on the way?”

The only he received was the frustrated slamming of car doors and murmured grunts. Seatbelts snapped into place and the cab pulled away, two of its occupants already missing each other more than ever. It was going to be a long week.


	2. The Journey

Unlike everything else in his busy life, Sherlock’s relationship with Molly was the easiest most natural phenomenon he’d ever experienced. He’d fallen hard for her almost as soon as they’d gotten together six months ago. He often returned to that moment in his mind palace, having gifted the special occasion its own personal room. The two of them had been working in comfortable silence, blindly passing various equipment and tools, so used to each other’s presence as they were. He invited her to Baker Street, offering to buy takeaway on the way. It was so natural and easy, Molly had no qualms about sliding her feet beneath his legs to warm them up as they watched crap telly, just as he didn’t when it came to stealing the last of her chips. The scene was so sickeningly domestic it didn’t even occur to Molly as to why Sherlock was indulging her. Time passed and the cab back to her flat was never called. The chaste goodbye kiss at the door became a steamy smooch of greeting on the detective’s bed. The morning after, there was no surprise as to the lack of awkward feelings, both agreeing it was right. They arranged to meet again and Molly gathered her clothes, briefly pecking her detective farewell and sneaking out before John could wake up. From then on, it was straightforward.

Everything was fine to begin with, more than fine, but as their relationship developed and progressed so did their need to be alone together. Alone time was increasingly hard to come by without arousing suspicion. As their developing relationship was still new and exciting, they were keen to keep it a secret, neither of them wanting the publicity and unending questions. They only had eyes for each other and that was how they liked it. Only one other person knew of their secret romance. Mycroft Holmes had stumbled upon some unsettling footage whilst updating Bart’s security measures, immediately texting his brother a message of sarcastic congratulations. With John accompanying Sherlock to Bart’s most of the time, it was almost impossible to get away from him. Supply cupboard, disused locker rooms and under repair toilets were a favourite of theirs, anything to snatch a moment of time. Even that was becoming impossible; they were fast running out of excuses for John’s questions over their whereabouts. He’d interrupted their first official date at Angelo’s, joining them happily when they told him they were discussing a case. The last straw came when the hapless army doctor inadvertently interrupted Sherlock and Molly’s six-month anniversary dinner – the detective was keen to surprise his girlfriend with his new culinary skills. John had waltzed into the flat, complained of his hunger and proceeded to happily devour the plate of pasta; Sherlock was left to text Molly an apology and a promise to make it up to her. The idea of the holiday came to him that night and he quickly began making preparations, eager for the solitude with his favourite pathologist.

* * *

The cab brought them as far as the car hire place where they collected the vehicle they were renting for the week. As soon as he’d heard how serious his little brother was about the morgue dwelling cat enthusiast, Mycroft had taken pity on the couple and arranged their travel and accommodation under the radar, away from snooping paparazzi and suspicious army doctors. Ten minutes later, the trio were on their way in the spacious hatchback – Sherlock was driving whilst John had hopped in beside him before Molly could move, leaving her to spread out in the back.

They’d been travelling for barely half an hour when John complained of hunger, forcing the detective to grumble and pull into the next services. The couple watched as their companion happily devoured a full English, glass of orange juice and mug of coffee. They declined his attempts to get them to eat, Molly nibbling at her own bit of toast as they waited. Soon enough, John excused himself to the bathroom; after he was well out of earshot, Sherlock turned to Molly, taking her hand and linking their fingers.

“Hi.”

Molly smiled, stroking that back of his hand with her thumb, “hello.”

Sherlock tenderly brought her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.  “I’m sorry about this, Molly, this was supposed to be our time, just us.”

“You shouldn’t be mad at him,” Molly said, smiling sympathetically. Sherlock turned towards the bathrooms, scowling.

“I am mad at him.”

“It’s not his fault.”

Sherlock supposed she had a point – this was typical of John bloody Watson. He wasn’t to know he was ruining what was intended to be a romantic break. He was still irritating nonetheless. He glanced out of the window, at their car and a thought suddenly struck him.

“We could go.”

“Hmm?”

“We could leave…drive off and leave him here,” he was smiling, dangling the keys pointedly from his finger. Always the voice of reason to his insanity, Molly chuckled.

“You know we can’t do that,” she couldn’t help but smile as her genius boyfriend was reduced to pouting at their missed opportunity, sulking over his neglected coffee. Molly brought her hand to his cheek supportively, earning his attention, “I’m as frustrated as you are, we’ll just have to make the best of it.”

He sighed heavily, wondering if he should be concerned with the power she had over him. Sherlock covered her hand, “I know, my darling-“

“Right. Shall we make a move?” John said, rubbing his hands together excitedly as he approached their table – Sherlock quickly shoved Molly’s hand under the table, unwilling to release her when he did.

* * *

Two and a half hours into their journey, Molly couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like to have left John at the service station. The bane of their existence was currently fast asleep in the front seat, mouth wide open and snoring loudly. Even the softly playing radio music wasn’t enough to drown him out. She glanced over at Sherlock; his knuckles were white from how tight he was gripping the steering wheel, clearly annoyed at the situation. Molly smiled to herself, shuffling over to the middle seat.

“How are you doing?”

“Oh, brilliant,” he snapped, shooting a glare at his best friend. His expression softened immediately when he caught her gaze in the mirror, “and you?”

“I’m okay. I was just thinking…” she leaned back in her seat, biting her lip, “what are we going to do?”

Sherlock frowned, “…about?”

“Well, our friend, here,” she nodded at their snoring burden, “may be as observant as a bag of potatoes but I think even he’ll notice there’s no case to solve.”

A moment of silence passed until Sherlock smirked, glancing up at the mirror once again, “that’s not entirely true.”

“Oh?” Molly said, unable to keep the amusement from her tone as she leaned forward in her seat. Sherlock gave John a brief look before lowering his voice to just above a whisper.

“There’s a village, half an hour’s drive from where we’re staying. A young girl disappeared…”

“I see why you were so eager to come out here,” she said with a chuckle. That was the detective she knew and loved.

“The intention was always to spend time with you, Molly,” he said firmly, shrugging as he added, “this was just a bonus,” he paused briefly, “there is just one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“It happened New Year’s Eve 1899.”

Molly nodded, “I can see why this case appealed to you.”

“I had hoped we solve it…just the two of us,” he shot another glare towards John, shaking his head, “sod it. If it keeps him busy, I’ll do anything.”

“I suppose you’ve got some ideas,” Molly said, already intrigued with the case. She always marvelled at Sherlock’s ability and she was certain he’d be able to solve the old mystery if just to bring peace to the poor missing girl.

His eyes sparkled with excitement, “oh, yes.”

Before he could get to the details, John snorted loudly and began to stir causing another irritated stare to be thrown in his direction. He frowned, fixing his gaze on the road, “I’ll fill you in later.”

“Mmm,” Molly quickly leaned forwards until she was close enough to whisper into her boyfriend’s ear, “and then, you can tell me about the case.”

Her fingers danced playfully across the back of his neck, twisting around his curls – the action caused him to swallow heavily and almost swerve the car off the road. John jerked awake, whirling around frantically, clearly still half-asleep.

“Wha- wassgoinon?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock cleared his throat, desperately trying to get rid of the huskiness in his tone, “erm, fox. I-in the road.”

The look he gave Molly in the mirror told her she was in for trouble later…with any luck.


	3. The Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio take a trip down to the village where Sherlock accidentally reveals a little too much...

They arrived at their secluded lakeside lodge around lunchtime, hurrying inside with their bags to shelter from the rainfall. Even with the bad weather, Molly could tell her boyfriend had outdone himself – various types of interesting and colourful fauna surrounded the exterior of their cosy lodge, the lake spilling out across the landscape to complete the picturesque scene. The interior was decorated with a rustic motif, complete with a fireplace, a small library-study area (at the request of Sherlock, she assumed), tiny kitchen and two en suite bedrooms. 

“Right, we’d best get unpacked…” he gathered his bag and disappeared upstairs; Molly waited until he was out of sight before stepping into Sherlock’s personal space and wrapping her arms around his waist.

“It’s beautiful here. Who knew you were such a romantic.”

He shrugged, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, “Mycroft did the leg work. I just-”

_“What the hell?”_

At John’s startled exclamation, Sherlock’s eyes widened almost comically and he leapt out of Molly’s embrace, racing up the stairs two steps at a time. Molly followed after him in puzzled curiosity, wondering what on earth John could have discovered that made the colour drain from her boyfriend’s cheeks. She soon got her answer when she found the boys standing outside the bedroom.

“What’s the-” Molly halted in the doorway, staring into the bedroom. The large double bed was covered in rose petals of various colours, a bottle of the pathologist’s favourite champagne sat in ice in the corner of the room and chocolates were scattered across the pillows. She blinked, “-problem?”

Her eyes briefly met with Sherlock’s before he ruffled his hair, gesturing at the room, “um, they must have assumed…” he trailed off but, thankfully, this excuse seemed to satisfy the army doctor. He rolled his eyes and discarded his bag.

“They always bloody do,” he muttered, leaping onto the bed. It was clear he was referring to himself and Sherlock, despite having invited himself along after their arrangement.

John approached the bed, sweeping the rose petals onto the floor before leaping onto the soft mattress. He removed his phone and dialled his girlfriend, Mary’s, number, happily chatting away to her whilst scoffing the chocolates. In that moment, Sherlock decided he maybe hated his stupid fat friend and his stupid fat face.

* * *

“It’s not his fault…”

“You keep saying that, Molly,” Sherlock said, pushing one of the single beds against the other. He straightened up and sat at the edge, pouting, “no one is this stupid by accident.”

Despite the separate bed situation, the single room they’d been forced into wasn’t all that bad. It was slightly smaller than the upstairs dwelling and there was a slight draft, but it was cosy and they were together. Alone. One floor below their burden. Molly smiled affectionately, sitting beside the love of her life.

“Says the consulting detective,” she took his hand, stroking the skin gently, “that was really lovely. What you did…or tried to do.”

“It was supposed to be special.”

Molly furrowed her brow, “why?”

“Um, just…our first holiday together,” he said with a dismissive wave of his free hand, not quite looking her in the eye, “it’s a special occasion.”

“Yeah, well, whatever the situation…” she rested her head on his shoulder, linking her arm through his, “I’m having a good time.”

Before he could do much more than press a sweet kiss to the top of her head, the sound of knocking at their door interrupted them. Molly could have sworn she heard a muttered promise of murder as her boyfriend stood up and stomped over to the door, wrenching it open.

“What?”

John was pulling on his coat, a smile on his face, “I was thinking of going down to the village. Maybe we could get something to eat.”

“What a good idea,” Sherlock smiled coldly, slamming the door in his friend’s face. Molly stifled a chuckle, reopening the door. John stared in confusion.

“What’s gotten into him?”

Molly shrugged, “oh, nothing-“

“That’s the problem!” Sherlock called from behind her, continuing his stroppy pout on the bed. The comment went right over John’s head, of course, but that didn’t stop Molly from giving him a warning glare.

“Ignore him, John, I think it’s a good idea,” she said happily, gesturing at the room behind her, “I’d come with you but, err, I have to unpack.”

“Yes!” Sherlock shouted, vaulting over the suitcases in his haste to join Molly at the door. He seized John’s shoulders and began marching him towards the front door, “enjoy lunch, question the locals, especially Mrs. Everly, take notes. Don’t come back until you have something important.”

“Hang on, hang on,” John shrugged off his persistent friend, ignoring the car keys he was insistently waving in front of his face, “I’m going on my own?”

“Well, _I_ can’t come,” Sherlock chuckled, folding his arms to keep himself from throttling the doctor, “I have stuff I need to…” he cleared his throat, “do.”

“Oh, right…” John said eventually, taking the keys and turning towards the door. He was half-outside when a thought occurred to him, “wait, you haven’t told me a thing about this case!”

“Oh, for God- okay, I’ll call you with the details,” the detective ruffled his hair desperately, once again trying to usher him towards the car, “just…give me ten minutes.”

If John heard Molly’s bark of laughter from the bedroom, he didn’t say anything. The army doctor stared incredulously at his friend. He shook his head.

“Are you mad? I’m not going out there alone!”

Sensing that her boyfriend was about to lunge for the fire poker and make some sort of John-kebab, Molly hurried to the door with their coats, handing the Belstaff to Sherlock.

“Lunch sounds like a good idea to me. It’s been a long morning,” she said quickly, pulling on her own coat. Sherlock did the same only slightly more aggressively.

“Great. I’m starving,” John said, heading towards the car. Molly lingered behind whilst Sherlock locked the lodge. She supportively rubbed his arm, leaning in close to him.

 “Maybe we should tell him.”

Sherlock glanced at her, pocketing the key, “what for? You think he’ll leave us alone?”

“I don’t know. It can’t be any worse, can it?”

Sherlock sighed, glancing towards the car, “I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

“You’re just being dramatic,” she elbowed him playfully, skipping towards the car, “let’s just get this over with. I’m hungry, too.”

“Fine,” he said, following after her reluctantly, “but we’re locking him in the bedroom tonight.”

* * *

The trip to the village took longer than expected thanks to John’s directions; they’d taken several wrong turns before Sherlock pulled the car over, wrenched the map from John’s hands and handed it to Molly, claiming she should have had it to begin with. This escalated into an argument between the two man-children.

“How was I supposed to know it was right?” John was saying, drumming his fingers against the window. Sherlock gripped the steering wheel harder, gritting his teeth.

“You _said_ right!”

“ _Noooo,_ I said ‘right’ as in ‘okay?’” John nearly shouted in his frustration, resting his head on the arm he’d leant against the window frame. The weather had improved since they’d left the lodge and it was starting to look like a lovely day.

“Right. On the right, right?” Sherlock repeated in a decent impression of John to which the army doctor frowned.

“Right,” Molly said, her eyes fixated on the old road map in her lap. Sherlock nodded in agreement.

“Exactly.”

Molly rolled her eyes pointing at the sign in the road in front of them, “no, the next right. We’re almost there.” As her lover turned the corner, she added under her breath, “men.”

The village was of a decent size, outlined by idyllic cottages and cabins. There was a local pub and corner shop, supplying groceries and typical day-to-day items. They parked the car and headed to the pub; it was warm and inviting inside, a roaring fire in the corner. Several pictures and hunting photographs decorated the wall as well as animal trophies and what Molly hoped were deactivated weapons. Despite the unnerving décor, they settled at a table and John approached the bar, ordering their food and drink.

“There’s something I just don’t get,” Molly started, removing her gloves, “if this girl went missing in 1899, how are we supposed to know what happened? Does she have any living relatives?”

Sherlock shook his head, “nope. She was an only child. Her father fled shortly after her disappearance. Everyone suspected him but there was no evidence. He was never seen again.”

“Well, what’s the plan?”

“Her old home still stands. The locals preserved it as a mark of respect…if I could get inside and look around,” he smirked, unwinding the scarf from his perfect neck. Molly couldn’t help but stare, wondering how she got so lucky. It was hers to kiss, to lick to nibble at He caught her staring and raised an eyebrow, “…we could go to the bathroom.”

“Mmm?” Molly reluctantly lifted her gaze, meeting her boyfriend’s eyes. She glanced over at John, who was engaged in conversation with the bartender, and rolled her eyes, “he’ll come looking for us, you know that.”

“It’ll be worth it,” he said, clearly amused by the mere thought. He watched as John paid for their lunch and gather the drinks, “if nothing else it’ll be a story to tell the kids.”

“Yeah,” Molly chuckled. After a moment, the reality of what he’d just said sunk in. Her eyes widened, and she stared at him, “what?”

Sherlock froze, unsure of what to say. It had been a slip of the tongue, something he hadn’t intended to say. That’s not to say he didn’t mean it. He busied himself but helping John with their drinks. The army doctor sipped at his beer, looking between the two.

“What did I miss?”

“We were just discussing the case,” Molly said after it became apparent Sherlock wasn’t going to say anything.

She gave him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye; he appeared deep in thought staring into his water glass. She feared he hadn’t meant what he said earlier and was thinking of a way to tell her. What Molly didn’t know was that her boyfriend was busy wondering if it would be such a terrible idea if his wedding proposal schedule was brought forward several days.


End file.
